Game of Thrones: The Lannisters Send Their Regards
by The Essence Of Randomness
Summary: Gendry Baratheon is King on the Iron Throne, but enemies old and new and arising with drawn swords to make him bleed. When Westeros erupts into a bloody war, who will remain standing once the Lannisters have sent their regards...


**Game of Thrones: The Lannisters Send Their Regards**

Jaime Lannister was on his third horse. The first he had taken from his father's camp, and that had lasted him two days almost solid, hard riding. The second he had stolen from a inn he'd encountered along the road. And this one he'd stolen from a farmer returning his cattle to a field. It was a big thing, but malnourished, and Jaime had been pushing it as hard as he could. The horse would die soon, he knew, but he was close to King's Landing. Close to revenge, if he could get it. Death, if he could not. Closer to Cersei.

His sister was dead. She had always been a part of him, they had been more than twins, truth be told. He always felt like something was missing, and only when he was inside her did either of them feel whole. They were made for each other. _The Targaryens married brother to sister for generations_. He had told her. He had _warned _her. If only she had listened, they could both have been together, safe. But she hadn't. And now she was dead.

Jaime came upon the King's Gate, and he decreed that his horse still had some life left in her. Throwing off his cloak and drawing his sword, he put his spurs into the horse and charged towards the gate. The Goldcloaks raised their spears, but he was too good. He swung his sword to one side, and then the other, and then he was through the gate and into the city. The horse gave a pained neigh and collapsed, but Jaime had already jumped off. He grabbed his shield from the pack he'd been carrying, and stood in the golden armour and white cloak of the Kingsguard.

Four goldcloaks converged on him, one bleeding from a head wound, clutching his shoulder. Jaime was glad to see he had already drawn first blood. The two healthy men charged, spears lowered, points aimed at him, but Jaime swept his sword low and pushed the two poles aside, before lunged forward and smashing one of the spearmen full in the face with his heavy wood-and-iron shield. The man recoiled. More blood. Jaime's sword came flashing down and the man collapsed. One dead. One more murder on the Kingslayer's record. The three other Goldcloaks drew their swords and circled him, but they all knew they stood no chance in any of the Seven Hells. One made a quick jab, but Jaime turned the blow aside with his shield and plunged his own sword into the man's gut. He wrenched the blade out to block a downswing from a man who had snuck behind him, the kicked his assailant between the legs. The man gave a grunt and doubled over, giving Jaime the time to bring his shield down on the man's head. Only one Goldcloak was still standing. He dropped his sword and threw his hands up. "I yield, Ser! I yield!" He pleaded.

A week ago Ser Jaime Lannister would have spared this man. But not today. He laughed, and cut the man's throat. The Goldcloak made a gurgling sound before falling. Jaime laughed again, and wiped his sword on the cloak of the dead man. A crowd had gathered to watch, but the sight of the mad, murderous Kingslayer scared them more than any fight could, and they soon turned and fled. _Good, _thought Jaime, _the less people to get in my way_. He continued up the street, and met no more guards until he came to the gates to the Red Keep. These two were Northmen. They drew their swords and approached him. "You really ought to have more men out on the streets." Jaime said, and when the guards took a second to glance at each other, he attacked. One went down instantly, naked steel poking out his back, but the other was able to get his sword up in time to block Jaime's first slash. He blocked the second too, but the third took him in the shoulder of his sword arm, and when Jaime made a heavy down stroke, the man buckled, his arm giving way, allowing Jaime's sword to embed itself in his neck.

After he'd entered the Red Keep, however, Jaime didn't have as easy a time as he'd had before. Five guards met him, and five guards died, and when a Knight confronted him, Jaime demanded something of him. "Send me a champion!" He bellowed. "Send me he who fights for the King!" The Knight drew his sword. "I fight for the King." He said, but Jaime just laughed. "I know the name of every Knight in the realm worth his steel. You are not one." He said. This angered the Knight, who charged. They fought for a moment, Jaime countering each attack lazily, until the Knight overstepped himself and Jaime took his head off. Stepping over the corpse, he asked again, "who fights for the King!"

Out of Maegor's Holdfast stepped another Knight, this one however dressed in the colours of the Kingsguard, same as him. "Ser Loras Tyrell!" Jaime said, giving a mocking bow. "Would you be my replacement?" The Knight of Flowers grinned. "No, I actually intend to defend my King." Jaime laughed. "I hope you fight as well as you jape." He said, attacking. Loras swung his sword and met Jaime's half way, and they both staggered back. _A good start_. Their blades kissed together again, one moment Jaime was on the attack, pushing Loras back across the yard, the next Jaime was retreating, his blade and shield darting to meet his opponent's ferocious onslaught. The Knight of Flowers was quick, vicious, strong. He reminded him of himself.

They danced across the yard, steel singing in the morning air. Jaime ducked under one of Loras's sideward swipes and jabbed his own blade up, but Loras caught the attack and turned it, and the two came apart again. No sooner had they caught their breaths than they were at each other again, both desperately looking for an opening while ensuring they presented none themselves. Sweat glistened on Jaime's brow as he took his turn to be on the offensive, probing for any area of weakness. But wherever he struck, Loras's sword was already in the way. Jaime was tiring, but he knew his opponent must be too. His chance came after a few more blows. Pushing Loras back towards the stables, Jaime feigned a sideways slice, and The Knight of Flowers moved to intercept, but Jaime went high instead, stabbing into a bale of hay, scattering it everywhere. Loras swung his sword wildly, but Jaime had already won. Tyrell stumbled forwards, right onto Jaime's waiting sword. His eyes went wide as the steel punched through his plate, mail, tunic, and chest. His own sword clattered to the floor.

The next thing Jaime knew he was surrounded. Goldcloaks, plus Baratheon and Stark men on all sides. He pulled back his sword as Loras fell hard onto the cobbles. At the head of the assembled force stood Renly Baratheon, Eddard Stark, and King Gendry Baratheon. Jaime gave a mocking bow. "Ah, Your Grace! Come to finish me yourself?" He asked. "I might be young, Kingslayer, but I'm not a fool." Gendry said. "Okay, take me then! And count your dead!" Jaime span in a circle, waving his sword at the troops encircling him. Gendry gave a slight smile. "Like I said, I'm not a fool."

A hundred bows twanged from the walls. Jaime felt a searing pain in his left thigh, then his right ankle, then his stomach, then his right shoulder, then his stomach. He looked down and saw the shafts jutting from his body. Another exploded out of his knee and he fell. The archers stopped firing. Jaime struggled to a crawl, face caked in dust, and looked up as Gendry approached him, sword drawn. The King rested the blade on his neck to line up the blow, and then swung.

"The war goes well." Said Gendry, looking at the members of his Small Council. "The Kingslayer is dead." Ned Stark cleared his throat. "Tywin Lannister has not yet marched, Your Grace. When he does, then we will see war." The Lord of Winterfell said. "We must strike first, hit Lord Tywin before he has the chance to make a move of his own." Renly said. His eyes were visibly red, and he had not been seen since the fight with Jaime. "Uncle Stannis, you have a fleet." Gendry turned to his uncle. "I do Your Grace." Stannis replied. "Currently only the Lannisters are hostile to us. If we take Lannisport, we can cut off their income." Said the King. "Tywin Lannister would still be the richest man in the Seven Kingdoms. There is no way to take their money." Ned replied.

"Lord Hoster will not surrender, I'm afraid." Said Kevan Lannister, looking at the map of Riverrun laid out on the table. Of all the Lords of the Westerlands, fourteen had heeded the call of their liege lord and raised their levies; the Crakehalls, Kennings and Yarwycks were first, followed by the Serretts, Lydenns, and Leffords. Only Lord Selmond Stackspear declared for Gendry Baratheon, but his army was slaughtered at the Golden Tooth by the Marbrands and the Spicers before the main part of Tywin's force reached the entrance to the Riverlands. The Westermen took Wayfarer's Rest in a day, killing the Lord Vance and his heir Ser Karyl in the process, before marching on Riverrun. Now their host had the Tully castle encircled, and were hastily erecting siege towers, rams, and catapults from the forests around the Red Fork. "Hoster Tully has not had any real power in Riverrun for years." Tywin replied. "His son Edmure is Lord in all but name." "Edmure is young and brash. Might he risk Riverrun on single combat?" One of their lords suggested. "The Mountain could defeat anyone he might send." Another chipped in. They were right, Tywin knew. Gregor Clegane had never lost a fight. "It is worth broaching the matter, I suppose."

"Single combat!" Edmure Tully bristled, slamming the door to his Lord Father's solar. "If we win, they will not break the siege, and if they win we will not surrender the castle." He declared. His uncle, Ser Brynden Tully nodded. "But, if we do not, we risk a lengthy war." At this, Brynden shook his head. "The more time the Lannister host wastes here, the less damage will be done to the rest of the realm." The Lady Catelyn said. "We cannot hope to defeat Tywin's army on our own; all we can is stall them until their siege can be broken." Agreed The Blackfish. The next few days were quiet. Riverrun's catapults and trebuchets fired sporadic volleys of rocks into the Lannister siege lines, but not to any great effect. The besieging army continued to erect their engines of war, and the Tullys continued to bide their time, safe behind their walls, for the moment...

Tyrion's mountain clans waited at the side of the High Road as the army of Albar Royce marched past. He had taken fifteen hundred men from the Gates of the Moon and the Eyrie and had been making good time. He would reach Riverrun soon, before Lord Tywin could take the castle, Tyrion knew. And along the way, their army would grow. Letters that Bronn the sellsword had stolen one night when the Royces made camp told them that at Darry castle they would be joined by two thousand five hundred more men, a thousand each from the Darrys and Rootes, and five hundred Hawicks. As far as Tyrion knew the army would grow even bigger by the time they reached Riverrun and took Lord Tywin in the rear. Tyrion's clansmen had been following them for leagues, and Shagga Son of Dolf and his Stone Crows kept insisting that they attack. "Halfman is coward." Shagga had growled one night. Tyrion had to explain the intricacies of battle to him. "If we attack now, we may very well break this force, yes. But we will lose many and more doing so. However, if we wait to join our strength to the rest of the clans, and my father's, we can win a great victory." Shagga seemed to like the sound of that. "Great victory." He repeated, satisfied.

"A letter from your father, Robb." Maester Luwin said, holding out a folded piece of paper, bearing Ned's seal. Beside Robb at the high table sat his brothers Bran and Rickon on the left, to the left of them their wards, Meera and Jojen Reed, to his right sat his half-brother, the bastard Jon Snow, and Ned's ward, Theon of House Greyjoy. "Read it, if you will, Maester." Robb said, handing back the paper. He could read, had been able to from an early age, but felt Maester Luwin better suited to announcing its contents. Robb was hopeful. Ever since the declaration of war, he had wanted to raise his own host, take the battle to the Lannisters, and this could be the order. "Call the banners." Luwin began. Robb nodded slowly. It was what he had wanted, but he had to remain composed, as befit the Heir of Winterfell. Theon, less so. He let out a quiet, "Yes!" Theon shared Robb's desire to join the war.

Jon, on the other hand, didn't. His half-brother was more conservative. Robb's equal in all things, and his closest friend, it was Jon's council he held the most stock by. But in this, they were opposed. Luwin continued. "Ser Rodrik is to lead the men of the North to the Twins." Robb's mouth dropped open. Theon's grin fell. Robb sprang to his feet. "I will lead the host." He declared. "These are your father's words." Said the Maester. Ser Rodrik stepped forward. "Robb, it would be my honour to-" Robb cut him off with a glare. "Ser Rodrik, I do not doubt your skill, nor your devotion, but as Castellan of Winterfell, I must do this myself." He said. "Robb," Jon said, grabbing his brother's arm, "don't do this." Robb took his hand and gripped tightly. "I have to, Jon." And then he turned back to Maester Luwin. "Send the ravens."

After, Jon, Robb and Theon had taken to the yard. "Robb, I will stand beside you in this." Theon said, twirling his blunted tourney-sword. "I know you will. Jon?" Jon's face was grave, as usual. "You Starks are hard to kill." He japed. "Sure you need my help?" Robb smiled. "You're as much a Stark as I." They fought for a few minutes, metal clanging across the practice yard. This time, Jon came out on top, disarming Robb with a well-timed uppercut and spinning around in time to give Theon an almighty bruise on the wrist. The Ironborn boy fell back, dropping his sword and scowling. "You cheated!" He said. Jon laughed slightly. "Maybe if you actually attacked me instead of just fawning over Robb."

Lord Leo Lefford walked onto the battlements of Wayfarer's Rest and stared out at the army encircling him. Tywin Lannister had left him in charge, with a small force of five hundred infantrymen and two hundred archers to hold the castle. It was not a crucial point, but should it fall the Lannister's back would be open and their siege of Riverrun could be broken. "Who dares?" He demanded. He needn't have asked. Sprouting up from the camps were the banners of House Piper and House Vypren, with the banners of their Tully overlords topping the posts. Riding to the gate was a small column of horsemen, flying a white flag of peace. A horn rang out, and a sergeant appeared at Leo's side. "Would you have us feather them, my lord?" He asked. Leo looked down at the approaching horses. "No. I will greet him, ready my mount."

Marq Piper watched the gates swing open, and a small group of horsemen rode forth. They met him well within range of the archers on the walls. "Lord Lefford." Marq greeted him curtly. "Ser Marq." Replied Leo. "Karyl Vance was my friend."  
>"I did not strike him down."<br>"No, which is why I offer you this chance. Surrender the castle, return your captives, disband your armies, and go home. If you do this, you will leave here with your lives."  
>Leo bristled. "I have hostages." He said. "Your friend had three daughters." Marq nodded. "He did. Tell me, are they well?"<br>"They are…comfortable."  
>"Give them back. Meet my demands, Lord Lefford, and you might just survive this." And with that, Marq turned his horse and rode back towards the siege lines. His escorts parted to allow him through, then followed. Leo turned to his sergeant. "Who does he think he is?" He grumbled. As if in answer, the catapults of the besiegers delivered one volley. Huge chunks of rock smashed into the walls of Wayfarer's Rest. Leo covered his head with his arm as pebbles rained down on his men. No second attack came. The volley had not done any real damage, but the message was clear; we can break you. Leo remembered the ranks of heavy horse around them. If the walls fell in enough places, his spears couldn't hold the cavalry.<p>

Marq looked at the map of Wayfarer's Rest laid out before him as the wind lashed at the command tent. To his left stood Ser Mikhail Trance, the captain of his forces, and across the table were the brothers Tytos and Brynden Vypren, who were in command of their troops. Ser Mikhail was a big man, well over six feet tall, thick of shoulder and jaw. In battle he fought with a maul as long as your arm and was always seen clad in the red fangs of his house. Tytos was half a foot taller and six months younger than his brother, but they all shared the auburn hair of the family. "Your terms are too generous, I'm telling you Marq." Said Mikhail, twirling his dirk. Marq looked up at him. "And what would you have me do?" He grumbled. In answer, Mikhail gave his knife one final twirl and stabbed it into the heart of the castle. Brynden nodded his agreement. "We have four thousand men. All estimates say they have less than one." But Marq shook his head. "No." He said. "We give them twenty four hours to answer."

Balon Greyjoy placed the Driftwood Crown upon his head, the same one he had worn years ago. It felt just as good now as it had then. Around him, his Ironborn were kneeling. He rose from the Seastone Chair. "What is dead my never die!" He shouted, raising one fist into the air. "But rises again, harder and stronger!" Replied the throng. Balon smiled. For years he had waited, watched, planned, until such time as the realm was weak again. And now, with a boy on the throne and the westerlands in revolt, he had seen fit to once again take his crown. His brothers, Aeron and Victarion, and his daughter Asha stood below him. He gestured to Aeron, who raised a hand for quiet. When the room was silent once more, The Damphair spoke in a booming voice. "All rise for Balon Greyjoy, Ninth of His Name, The Iron King, King of the Iron Islands, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the Sea Wind and Lord Reaper of Pyke!" The kneelers got to their feet again and Balon descended.

The farmer was the sixteenth in three days. All of them had come to beg reparations of the Crown for the wrongs done them by a group of raiders. "These men that have burned your farms and houses are not our men." Ned said again. "However it cannot go on. Lord Beric Dondarion?" He called. A knight came forth from the back of the hall. Beric was a short man, with strong shoulders and a receding line of auburn hair. "Aye, Lord Stark?" He answered. "Take a hundred and fifty men into the Riverlands. Stop these raiders, bring them to justice." Lord Beric nodded and bowed low. Ned was weary. His leg still hurt and he was on milk of the poppy, which amplified the already tiring nature of holding court. He stood, grimacing, leaning on his stick. "I will hear no more for today." He declared. The Goldcloaks began clearing the hall, and Ned gathered the Small Council into their chambers.

"A raven has arrived for you, Lord Stark." Said Grand Maester Pycelle, clutching a piece of parchment in his old, shaking hands. Ned sat down and took the paper. The Stark seal, unbroken. His face was grave as he read. "It's Robb. He's leading our army himself." He said. Renly gave a slight laugh. "Reminds me of his namesake." He said. Ned couldn't disagree. "His brother was named after Jon Arryn. I hope he lives up to that name too."

"Go." Said Robb, waving a hand at Theon. "Your father's put a crown on his head, I trust you to go and take it off." Robb was putting his trust in Theon. A raven had come that Balon Greyjoy once again sat the Seastone Chair, and the North needed his ships. If the Iron Fleet combined with the Royal Fleet from King's Landing and the ships from Dragonstone, no force could stand against them on the waves. "What...what do I tell him?" Theon asked. "Tell him that if he joins us against the Lannisters...tell him we'll give him Casterly Rock." Theon wasn't sure he'd heard him right. "Casterly Rock?" He echoed. Robb couldn't mean it, surely...his father had the power to grant that, certainly, but would he? Theon didn't think so. Robb turned to Jon. "You'll go with him."

Tyrion's legs ached. The mountain clansmen were big, and walked in long strides that Tyrion's stunted legs could barely keep up with. He had suggested to Bronn that he carry him, but the sellsword had politely told Tyrion where he could shove that idea. And so he walked, miles and miles every day, outpaced at every moment by the men he presumed to command. They made camp that night hidden around the Royce army, as they did every night. He had allowed now fires, lest they be seen, so they were all shivering, but after The Wall and the Sky Cells of the Eyrie Tyrion was no stranger to cold. Shagga again insisted that they attack, grumbling something about his axe being hungry, but then a one of the Burned Men looked at his mutton the wrong way and Shagga's axe was satisfied. By Tyrion's estimates they were maybe a day's march from Riverrun at any rate, which meant the battles the clansmen all craved would soon be upon them. He enjoyed commanding armies, that much was true, but the actual battles were not exactly his forte. "A good commander always leads his troops into the fray." Bronn had said once with a smirk.

The man was muddy, his crimson armour spattered in blood and dirt and broken in several places. The Lion painted on his shoulder had no head. There was a deep gash in his right thigh and a smaller one in his right arm. "M-My Lord." He said, bowing his head slightly. "Talk!" Tywin ordered. "What news?" The Man looked at Lord Tywin nervously, then to the other Lords and Generals in the room. He only continued when his eyes were firmly back on Tywin. "We were scouting up along the River Road, as you ordered Milord." He spoke quickly, like in the manner of one who pulls a hair fast to end the pain sooner. "Go on." Said Ser Kevan. "We were set upon by...by outriders. They flew no banners, wore no sigils. We did what we could, but they outnumbered us three-to-one and took us by surprise. Only I escaped, two others were captured." The man was shaking by now. "Thank you. See to it that this man is seen to properly." Tywin said, and two guards lead the scout from the room. Tywin turned back to his generals and lords. "Our scouts, outnumbered five to one? This can only mean a huge force is converging on us."

Jon scowled as Theon emerged from their cabin with the captain's daughter. "What's wrong, Snow? Jealous?" He sneered. "If you're as good with that sword as you are with a steel one, I don't think I'm missing much." Jon threw back. The captain's daughter laughed, and Theon slapped her. Jon's hand flew to the hilt of his sword. "Leave her alone." He said. Theon grasped his own sword. A few tense moments passed, but they were broken by a cry from the captain. "Pyke! We've arrived!"

The ship put them ashore and Theon adopted a smug demeanour. "This is my home. These are my people!" He grinned. "They've forgotten you." Jon noted as a horse took a shit a few feet from them. But a man was riding up to them, two horses trailing behind him. "My prince!" Said the man. Jon didn't like the sound of that. "Nuncle!" Theon replied. This must've been the Priest of the Drowned God, Aaron Greyjoy, The Damphair. "And Lord Snow!" Jon inclined his head respectfully. "Your father sent me, boy. Let's go!"

"A dead Lannister scouting party, you say?" Edmure asked. Brynden Tully rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's what I said. About ten or so rode out, gleaming in their bloody crimson, one rides back, beaten and bloody on a limping horse." Edmure could not conceal his grin at the news. Brynden scowled. "What're you so happy about? Nine of their men might be dead, you're not Aegon the fucking Conqueror." But Edmure could not be dissuaded. "Because, Uncle, this means someone is coming to relieve us!" He said. "Yes," Catelyn Stark nodded gravely, her lips pursed, "and it also means the Lannisters know they're on their way."

The gates swung open, and Leo Lefford emerged, looking sheepish. Marq Piper smirked. He hadn't truly expected his foes to give in, and was somewhat disappointed that they had. "Told you. The man's got a cunny between those fat thighs, I swear it." Said Mikhail beside him. Behind them, their entire army had arrayed, spears in the front, cavalry at the back, archers in the middle, catapults arranged further behind the horsemen, and two rams in the very centre. Marq had wanted the fight, but he was also glad he didn't have to watch any of his men die. He rode up to Lord Lefford. "It is done." Lefford said. "I surrender. The hostages will be returned-" Leo was cut off as a spear erupted from his chest. Marq's horse reeled back. Leo fell from his, but was dead before he hit the ground. His killer raised his spear once more, and the banners of House Lannister were proudly raised from the walls.

The banners were raised, and three female corpses were hung from the battlements.

The knight that had killed Lord Lefford set his spear once more and charged, along with the fifty others that had accompanied their lord under a banner of peace. Behind the approaching cavalry, the gates were swinging shut. Marq had no time to issue orders, but his men knew what to do. The catapults delivered one volley, and then began reloading. The rams started advancing on the gates. And the Piper horse streamed out from the centre of the army. Marq's own accompanying force was taken by surprise, and the Lannister horsemen made a good start. Marq watched in horror as two of his guards were slain, and then barely brought his own lance up in time to drop his own attacker. The man fell from his horse, and Marq dropped his lance. He drew his sword and spurred his mount on, cutting down one man and then another.

Balon Greyjoy didn't smile. "Robb Stark wants to offer me Casterly Rock?" He said to his son. "Are you a Greyjoy or a Stark, Theon?" He asked. Jon didn't like the sound of this at all, but it was Theon's mission, so he stayed silent. Theon gulped. "I...I am a Greyjoy...I am your son." He replied. "You're Eddard Stark's son!" Balon shouted. "You come here offering me the Stark's peace...I will have Winterfell, The Others take Casterly Rock!" This was very bad, Jon knew. "There will be war, Theon. Who's side are you on?" Now Jon had to act. He stepped forward, acutely aware of all the eyes on him. "We were never friends, Theon." He began, choosing his words with care. "But I always thought of you as my brother." Theon looked at Jon, then back to his father. His jaw set, but his eyes told a different story. "My brothers are dead!" He cried, wrenching his sword from it's scabbard and attacking.

Mikhail's maul crushed the iron halfhelm with ease, and the skull inside it turned to pulp. A sword came whirling at his right and he brought his shield up. The blow was so hard that the blade bit deep into the wood, and Mikhail pulled back, bringing the attacking horseman off balance to allow Mikhail to kill him. Around him, the small force of cavalry that had launched the surprise attack was defeated, but each man of them had fought to the last, and just as many of their own men lay dead or dying. The first skirmish was won, but the true battle was only just beginning. Mikhail's eyes met Marq's for a moment and he nodded. The rams were moving into position, and huge boulders were falling onto the castle. Archers on the walls were firing at the rams, but the canopies above them were adequate protection, and the furs stopped them catching alight. The tree trunk crashed into the gates once, twice, three times. The gates were strong wood, but they would break soon, everyone knew it. The Lannister loyalists inside the castle had signed their own death warrant.

The Mummer's Ford was a small crossing of the River Trident, nothing but a small, motley collection of houses clustered around a bridge. And around the town were gathered a hundred and fifty horsemen. Thoros of Myr rode up beside Beric Dondarrion and looked at his friend. "They're definitely in there." He said. Beric nodded. "Yes." "Is it time to deliver the King's justice?" Thoros asked with a smirk. Beric drew his sword and spurred his horse forwards a few steps, before turning back to face his men. "In the name of Gendry of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, protector of the Faith and Defender of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Hand of the King, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, today, justice shall be done! For the Iron Throne, yes, but also for the commoners! For the smallfolk who do not play the game of thrones!" Swords were drawn all around him, and a cheer went up as Beric turned.

Jon's sword flew up and met Theon's, and steel rang on steel. "You don't want this, Theon." He said as their blades ground together. Theon let out a roar and hacked down at Jon, forcing the bastard onto the back foot. Jon kept parrying, blocking every move his opponent made, not returning the attack. The two of them had both had the same training, but Jon was faster. Theon was getting nowhere, but he didn't stop, hacking away at Jon furiously. The battle raged on, the two of them dancing around the hall, steel ringing, everyone watching with baited breath. Balon was on the edge of his seat, a thin smile on his face.

Dain looked up first at the cheer, but by the time he got to the window and looked out the thunderous sound of the hooves was overwhelming. He grabbed his crossbow and fired off a bolt at the first man to come into range, and then watched as the Mountain's Men rushed out with whatever weapons they had close to meet the attackers. Dain recognised the flaming sword and the man wielding it, clad in red mail and cloak, it was the Priest, Thoros of Myr. He had heard the stories, of course. They all had; a band of soldiers living like outlaws, hell bent on killing the Mountain and his men. And here they were. He snatched his sword from its scabbard and rushed down the stairs, out of the house, and into what passed for the town square. Thoros swung his sword through one man's neck, and as his head went flying through the air his hair caught on fire.

Beric blocked one blow and parried, opening his opponent up for the kill with his second swing. By now his troops were all inside the square, slaying anything in sight wearing Lannister crimson. The Mountain's men had been taken totally by surprise, and many of them weren't even armed as they were cut down. Beric slid down from his horse and disarmed one man coming at him with an axe. His attacker fell back and collapsed, and Beric pointed his sword at his throat. "Where is Gregor Clegane?" He demanded. The man grimaced, and then smiled broadly. "Burn!" He cried, starting to cackle. Beric wheeled around, and then all hell broke loose. The square was afire, flames leaping from building to building, licking up at the thatched roofs and wooden walls. "FALL BACK!" He shouted, and his horsemen broke and ran, making for any gap they could find. Thoros came galloping at him and he swung up onto his horse.

Lord Tywin put his spears at both edges of his camp, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. They were surrounded, and he'd lost the chance to take Riverrun. If he attacked the castle now, the army at his rear would have a simple job of butchering them. However, if he turned and attacked Albar Royce's men, the Tully's could sally out and smash their siege lines. "We hold a strong position here, if the Royces attack they will be grievously blooded." Said Ser Kevan. "Yes, but that will be the price they pay for victory." Tywin replied. No matter how much he hurt their enemies, he couldn't win. "We could surrender?" Suggested a lord. "There will be no surrender. Only death." Tywin replied.

Theon held his sword in two hands and brought it down hard on Jon's block. It was a clumsy, stupid move, but Jon just took it and moved back. Theon kept coming, and Jon finally knew what he had to do. He checked a few more of Theon's jabs and slashes, but let himself take a glancing blow to his wrist. Crying out in pain, he dropped his sword. Theon smashed him in the face with the flat of his blade, sending him crashing to the ground. Jon could hear Balon Greyjoy laughing, and a cheer went up around the hall. Theon went to his knee. "I am the Kraken's Son."

Edmure Tully smiled. The Lannisters had lost, it was clear. The armies of Albar Royce had stolen upon them in the depths of night and encircled the besiegers. "We should attack." He said. The Blackfish scowled. "Many would die. Too many." He said. But Edmure would not listen. "Fine, no ground attack then. But we will feather them from the walls. Fire a single arrow." He nodded to a sergeant next to him, who lit an arrow tip on fire and let fly. The message was clear to anyone watching; attack. The Royces began forming up, and arrows started falling onto the Lannister camps.

Thoros and Beric escaped the burning town, with a handful of their men, but as they emerged, choking and blinking, they saw a huge figure, clad in gunmetal plate armour ride out of the woods, flanked by cavalry, all carrying the Lannister lion. Beric knew his job was simple. Leaping down from the horse, he glanced back at Thoros and nodded. The priest's eyes were conflicted, but he did what Beric wanted. "With me!" He bellowed, waving his flaming sword as a beacon. The remnants of their force arrayed behind him, and fled.

A calm came over Beric then, as the Mountain approached him on his huge black horse. He drew his sword down his hand, coating it in blood. The blade erupted in a burst of orange, and Ser Gregor charged. Beric swung his flaming sword and beheaded the horse, jumping to the side to avoid it. It collapsed, but the momentum carried it forwards, and by the time the Mountain was able to push himself to his feet Beric had rained down a dozen blows on his armour. None had done any lasting damage however, and Gregor's own attack was devastating. Beric danced back, dodging every hack, knowing one could be the death of him. The mud was slick with blood and rain, and he slipped, falling to his knees. Looking up, Beric saw The Mountain's huge sword coming down, and brought up his own to block it.

Above Wayfarer's Rest, the flag of the Tullys flew high. The battle had been brutal, but eventually they had wrestled control of the castle from the Lannisters. Any defenders that hadn't died in the battle, Marq hanged from the walls, all the way around, as a warning to anyone that might dare try again. The Maester had served the Lannisters when they held the castle, and the Vances before them, so it was him that brought word from Riverrun. "Lannister host encircled, odds firmly in our favour, siege will be broken by week's end." Was all it said, but the news was good.

From the battlements, Edmure had a commanding view of the entire battlefield. The Lannisters held their ground well, but whichever way they faced they left their backs open, making them relatively easy prey for a skilled archer. Albar Royce himself was leading the cavalry spearhead right into the centre of the camp, putting tents to the torch and cutting down anyone in their path. The Lannister siege tower was burning, as well as their rams and catapults. The second wave was forming up, ranks of spearmen and heavy infantry lead by a line of knights. And then, emerging from the treeline behind the armies, came a tide of black. Huge men, clad in fur with thick shaggy hair clutching axes and crude spears. The Royce army had no warning, no plan, and no chance. At the head of the savages rode a tiny man on a big horse, swinging an axe almost as big as he was. A war horn rang out, and the Lannisters in the camps summoned up their last reserves of strength. Edmure's face fell.

Shagga had finally got his battle, that was for certain, but this felt more like butcher's work. From atop his horse Tyrion could see the whole battle playing out. His clansmen were making short work of the rear of the Royce force, slaying men before they had a chance to turn. A spearman tried a clumsy jab at him, but his horse reared back instinctively and kicked the man in the face, opening him up for Tyrion's axe. Fires were burning within the camps, but his father's men were fighting back, and between them they were boxing the Royces in and surrounding them.

When Thoros returned to the Mummer's Ford, the Mountain and his men were gone. Corpses were everywhere, dead men from both sides lay rotting, feeding the crows. "Gather them up. Burnt them!" Thoros ordered. He found Beric dead in the mud, his sword in shattered pieces around him, a gash running down his face and across his right eye. His wrists were both broken, snapped at odd angles. Thoros went to his knees and cradled the corpse of his friend. And he prayed.

The battle stopped for a moment. Albar stood at the front of his men, clutching a bleeding shoulder. On one side were Tyrion and his mountain clansmen, and on the other were the rejuvenated Lannister infantry. Tyrion's beard and hair had grown out wildly, so if it weren't for the golden lion emblazoned on his crimson cloak he would've looked like a mountain man himself. He swapped his axe for a crossbow and forward, into the no man's land between the two armies. "Come to parley, dwarf?" Asked Albar. Tyrion grimaced. Instead of replying, he simply raised the crossbow and fired a quarrel into Royce's chest. The bolt punched through his plate, mail, and flesh. The impact knocked him back, and for a moment he looked surprised. He fell to his knees as Tyrion reloaded.

The dwarf rode in slow circles around his fallen foe. Royce would die soon, but he still had a few more minutes to hear what his killer had to say. "I am Tyrion, of House Lannister! I am a dwarf, an imp...and a Lion!" A cheer went up from the men on all sides as Tyrion lowered the crossbow and fired a second shaft. This one took Royce in the head, and he fell. The survivors of his army dropped their weapons. As Tyrion turned, he saw his father watching, a look on his face Tyrion never thought he'd see; pride.

**Epilogue**

"Unsullied!" Daenerys Targaryen roared, cracking her whip. Behind her, the city of Astapor was burning. "Take the ships! Free the slaves! Kill any who resist!" There were nearly a hundred ships in Astapor that day, all huge merchant vessels loaded with spices and gold. The few slave soldiers on the ships stopped fighting for their masters the moment their chains were struck off. A few ships escaped the bay before the Unsullied could take them, and one of those was brought down by flaming arrows, but the rest were hers within an hour. "Khaleesi, you are no captain." Said Ser Jorah Mormont as they stood over the bay, watching the Unsullied board. "There are captains amongst the slaves, I'm sure, ser." She replied.

She was right. Soon, they were sailing away from the burned ruin of Astapor. Away from the slave cities, away from Essos, away from everything Daenerys had known since she was a baby. And towards Westeros.


End file.
